Missing Pieces
by getwriteonit
Summary: Thunderblink: John Proudstar has been a great leader for most of his life. He is strong and sturdy, smart and compassionate, logical and reasonable. But there was always a missing piece for him, something that didn't make sense. Until Clarice came along.
1. Chapter 1

"Clarice."

Her name was such a soft whisper on his lips that she wasn't sure if she'd heard it or imagined it in her state of shock. Then, his fingers brushed gently over hers in the back seat of the slick black SUV that Esme was currently flooring towards the safe house provided by the Hellfire Club.

It was then she realized her heart was beating loudly in her ears. Her fingers twitched at the unexpected contact, but softened almost immediately at the equally as unexpected tenderness with which his thumb stroked over the back of her hand. She barely remembered creating the portal to get them out of there, but the feeling of John's strong arms around her had made it easier than usual to find the strength.

Tense silence radiated from the front seat. Esme brewed in quiet contempt about their failure to secure Campbell. Marcos stewed in his own disbelief that the Cuckoo sisters had honestly expected them to sacrifice the lives of innocent human children for the sake of completing their already morally questionable mission. And worse was that Lorna had agreed with them. They exchanged several dirty looks and sighs that served as the only soundtrack of the drive back other than the dull hum of the engine as it sped down back roads.

Tension filled the backseat as well, but in a different way. So much remained unspoken between the pair and would likely remain so for quite awhile. Clarice turned from the window finally to let her jade eyes meet John's darker ones. There was so much she wanted to say to him right now. Especially as the shock of the events that had unfolded in the past half hour finally started to wear off and the memories came back in bits in pieces to form a composite image in her mind. She turned her hand over underneath his so they were palm to palm and although she immediately missed the soothing circular motions he'd been tracing against her skin, she found just as much comfort in lacing their fingers together and offering him a gentle squeeze. For a moment they just looked at one another; eyes searching to make sure the other was _really_ okay.

John was used to worrying about others. As a leader of the Underground, it was part of the job description. However, he was usually equally as good at keeping people at arm's length. He would do anything to protect his people, but he was also careful to not get too emotionally attached to them. The way he worried about Clarice was different. Carnal. Instinctive. He didn't have a choice when it came to caring deeply for her. The feelings, it seemed, were just there. He _needed_ her to be okay, maybe more than he needed to be okay himself. It terrified and exhilarated him all at once.

Clarice on the other hand wasn't used to worrying about anyone other then herself. She was used to being on her own. To be quite honest, she was good at it. On some levels, she preferred it. As her eyes searched his she couldn't help but smirk as a moment of realization hit her. Largely in part to meeting John and joining the cause, she'd found herself more in danger than ever before in the last few weeks yet she'd also never felt safer. It seemed oxy moronic, really, but she had a sneaking suspicion the complex nature of this situation would cease to exist if John weren't a part of the equation.

The smile that had played briefly at her lips garnered a quizzical look from him. But, as she opened her mouth to clue him in, the SUV came to a stop and instead, she squeezed his hand once more, a promise of an explanation yet to come.

They'd been back at the safe house over an hour before they finally found a moment alone. Marcos and the blondes had hashed it out for a while with John trying to be the voice of reason. That had ended with a mess of slamming doors and a lot of shouting.

Sometime after, Lorna had come to the room John and Marcos had been sharing and he'd taken his cue to leave as more of an excuse to have some time alone with Clarice. He moved the short distance down the hall to knock gently on the door Lorna had just left from.

Cautious not to say come in and unknowingly invite one of the telepath sisters in to pick her brain, Clarice had opted to walk to the door and pull it open slightly to reveal who was there before allowing them in. Much to her delight, instead of finding one of the immaculately dressed fair-haired clones, she saw the man who'd made her heart flutter and breath catch since before Dreamer's pink smoke had ever come in to the picture. Wordlessly, she pulled the door back more and then stepped away, allowing him to come in and close the door behind him.

Suddenly, now that they were alone, and despite the fact that they had so much to say to each other, Clarice found herself struggling to find her words. Where to start? She swallowed hard, her tongue peeking out to wet her dry lips. She cleared her throat lamely, but nothing came out.

He wore strong and silent well; that was true. But words of wisdom were also John Proudstar's specialty and yet just like his female counterpart, he found himself silenced in this moment. He crossed the room to stand in front of her, his tall frame towering over hers. He too had things he wanted to say, but instead, he leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers and closing his eyes, breathing her in. Talking was important, of course. But for a moment, he just wanted to _be_ with her. After everything they'd gone through, not just today, they deserved the respite.

Her hands came up to rest behind his neck and she leaned up on her tiptoes, to create more closeness between them. Her own eyes closed as the fingers of her right hand tangled themselves into the hair at the base of his neck. "John." It was her turn to let his name fall from her lips in an almost silent whisper.

The breathiness of her voice caused his eyes to blink twice and then flutter back open briefly and though he'd fully intended for them to have a conversation about everything that had just gone down, his lips had other plans. His hands joined their mission as well and in one fell swoop, he was cupping her face and bringing his lips down to capture hers.

This kiss was much slower and more romantic than their first, less restrained. His left hand dropped from her cheek to wrap around her waist and draw her against him, deepening the kiss as he did. It was amazing what could transpire when a life altering kidnapping mission wasn't threatening to ruin the moment. They both could have allowed themselves to get lost in that kiss indefinitely, but it was Clarice who finally pulled back. "Definitely real." She confirmed her earlier assertion, breathless and panting.

A genuine smile grew on his lips. "Very real." He agreed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and then leaning to press a chaste kiss to her forehead, pulling her against him into a tight bear hug. "You're safe." He whispered into her violet hair. Though, he said it as much for his own sake as for hers.

"Thanks to you." She whispered, her hands sliding under the hem of his t-shirt, daring to traverse the strong muscular back that had shielded her from the bullets that so easily could've ended her life. "Are you okay?" She asked, her fingers could feel the heat radiating from the spots on his back that she assumed must've been bruises from the bullets that had torn his jacket and button down but thankfully not him.

"I'm always okay." He promised, his eyes fluttering closed slightly at the feel of her light touches against the sensitive skin on his back. What a loaded statement that was.

"No one who has gone through what you have gone through is _ever_ okay." She corrected and he was too tired and her statement was too accurate for him to argue. They shared a quiet look of understanding and he wished just for a moment that such pain and loss wasn't one of their commonalities.

Instead of trying to disagree, he responded with, "Physically," amending his own statement so it reflected some truth, at least. Still, his statement failed to satisfy her.

"Let me see." It wasn't a demand, but it was too firm to be considered a request. Clarice also made little effort to wait for a response and much to his chagrin she pulled away from him, and he instantly missed the warmth of contact. When he didn't move at first she added a softer, "Please," and though he hated to be so vulnerable, if it ever felt right to be so, it was with her.

Against his nature, he tugged his shirt over his head, complying to her want. Clarice couldn't help but take a moment to hungrily take in his Adonic form, her fingers reaching out to trace down his muscular chest before she could stop herself. A slight blush tinted her cheeks at her blatant gaping and she cleared her throat and moved around to face his back, happy to escape the amused look on his face at her gawking for the moment.

The happiness was short lived though as her eyes widened, taking in the bruised flesh, four distinct points of contact that would've been fatal to her if he hadn't—her breath caught in her throat at the thought. "John…" There was that breathless whisper again; her voice so soft and small was his kryptonite.

He turned around to face her once again, "I'd take a hundred more if it meant you were safe." He admitted honestly, looking into her eyes. His words took her aback in the best way. Yet, her eyes were full of sadness that he'd endured that pain for her. "It'll hurt me a day or two max and then I'm good as new." He promised, knowing she was already feeling guilty dealing with the fact that he was hurt, at least in her eyes, because of her. He longed to tell her that without her he wasn't sure any of this would be worth it, but that was for too intense for the small amount of time they'd known each other and he didn't want to overwhelm her, or himself for that matter, so instead he went with; "Besides, Zingo would never forgive me if anything happened to you…" He added blithely, to his delight, it earned him a smile.

His words proved that he knew her so well already. The thought made a lump form in her throat but she forced a smile anyway. His words did overwhelm her, because she'd never felt so valued before. In spite of herself, tears threatened to spill from her eyes, which had become glossy at his opening statement. Welcoming his window of lighthearted escape she managed to push back the looming waterworks. "Well we can't disappoint Zingo." She grinned in gentle agreement, though her smile did falter slightly when he pulled his shirt back over his head.

"Maybe he can be your new warm jelly donut." John suggested, an innocent smile playing at his lips as he instinctively reached for her, his fingers looping into one of her belt loops, drawing her towards him.

"I think you may have already replaced the donut." Her smile broadened even as a slightly embarrassed blush tinted her cheeks at her honesty. His dimpled grin grew to match her own. "But keep in mind that it's been a long time since I've eaten a warm jelly donut or even had the opportunity to have one, so you do have an unfair advantage." Her smile turned into a smirk, dampening the sentimentality of her words ever so slightly.

"Are you telling me you'd pick a jelly donut over me, Clarice?" An amused look played on his features, though he did his best to feign offense.

"No of course not!" She defended, pulling him against her this time, popping back up to her tiptoes, looking very seriously at him. "Only time I pick the jelly donut over you is if it's _warm_." She winked, dissolving into a giggle.

He joined in with her teasing laughter, "As much as that hurts, I can kind of understand that. And part of me doesn't blame you." His eyes were alight with a misplaced playfulness that matched hers. He needed this reprieve from the constant stress and worry of running the Underground, protecting his people, making the tough calls, trying to stay two steps ahead of Sentinel Services, it was all becoming too much. The recollection of all this had his eyes on the verge of darkening with seriousness now, but she wasn't ready for that just yet, and neither was he.

"What's your warm jelly donut?" Her voice managed to cut through the mounting stressors that threatened to bring them back to reality.

He let the amusement come back to his eyes and his considered her question for a moment. "I mean had there been a deep dish pepperoni pizza there when they were shooting at us I may have had a tough decision to make…" He teased, but his actions failed to align with his words as he moved his hand up to tangle in her hair once more and his lips captured hers once again.

They allowed themselves this quiet escape just a little longer. Their lips moving against each other with a practiced ease already. His hand not already occupied by her purple tresses moved so his thumb could brush the bottom half of the lilac diamond surrounding her eye. "There is so much uncertainty." He whispered against her lips, but he pressed them to hers once more, interrupting his own thoughts for a moment. "Everything is so messy and complicated." Admitting these things out loud brought him a surprising amount of ease. "Except for this…" That part of his confession made him feel weightless for a moment and he drew back, his hands dropping to her shoulders to pull back and look at her. "You're all that makes sense to me right now Clarice," His raw honesty surprised even him. "When you left and I came after you I tried to pretend it was because the Underground needed you. But, _I_ needed you." The words came flooding out now, as if a dam had broken. "I need you. I want you. I don't know what that means or how we can be together at a time like this but-I can't keep denying – " John rarely stammered over his words and Clarice took great satisfaction in being the cause of it. "There is so little joy left in our lives, I won't deny us this." He finished, dropping his gaze to meet hers searchingly.

She smiled slightly at him, nodding in quiet understanding and agreement. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled herself to him, resting her head against his chest. They stayed like that another moment and John moved but she tightened her grip on his shirt. "Just a little longer." Her voice was so small, yet commanding as it came out even more muffled as her face was buried into his chest.

He smiled contently, more than happy to oblige her request.


	2. Chapter 2

John was quite sure he would be physically unable to handle any more loss at this point. After Sage had walked over to join Lorna, all the resolve he'd mustered up during their little strategizing pep talk had completely vanished. The Underground's headquarters was destroyed and now they had nothing to go back to. How was he to keep his people safe when they lost everything they'd spent so long amassing for those exact purposes? His friends were giving up on what they had all worked so hard to build together. They were giving up on _him_. At least, that was how he felt and there was no convincing him otherwise.

An awkward silence hung around their temporary living space after the departure of the Hell Fire Club's newest recruits. Although he still had a hard time fathoming that his friends had really left, abandoned the cause they'd invested so much time, effort, and energy into. On some level, he could understand the attraction. Their foray to capture Campbell had been a small taste of the luxuries many of them hadn't seen in months or in some cases years. Real beds. Hot showers. A kitchen full of fresh food, waiting to be prepared. Clean clothes. Clean sheets. The list went on. Tempting as it was, the price that came with it was far too high for John. He'd stick with old rusty cots, dented cans of nonperishables, and cold showers if it meant he could keep his principles too.

He'd managed to avoid dealing with his feelings of resentment and sadness altogether by busying himself with finalizing sleeping arrangements, taking head count far more times than necessary, dividing supplies, and tending to the other various duties and responsibilities that always fell on his shoulders as leader. A role that seemed to have endless responsibilities yet reaped him little reward.

Clarice had stepped up into a leadership role in the past few weeks but tonight it was clear that it was more than just John who saw her that way. He'd taken note of how she'd taken charge of 'making dinner' that night, if you could really call the gaggle of young mutants she'd gotten to form an assembly line for making and distributing peanut butter sandwiches and bottles of water, 'making dinner.'

A somber mood had remained most of the night and after dinner that was little to no complaining and grumbling about lights out. John had taken his leave outside to get some fresh air and he was leaned up against a pillar at the back entrance of the much too small building they would call home for only the next few days before they'd have to find a place more suited to their needs. He was drawn from his thoughts the moment he sensed movement inside their safe haven. He paused, tucked his hair behind his ear, and closed his eyes to listen. Focusing past the faint sounds of snores, coughs, and the groans of old cots, he heard footsteps. More specifically; he heard _her_ footsteps.

Mere moments later, the same door he'd come out of himself was opening again. Normally he'd have tried to hide the redness that rimmed his eyes but with her there was no use. "John…" There it was again, that way only she could say his name. The softness with which she spoke only seemed to come when she spoke that word specifically, as though it was the only word pure enough to merit such gentleness. This time, though, that specially reserved tenderness would be what finally caused him to fall apart.

He tried to stop it from happening; his efforts were valiant, honestly. But it was no use. His heart and head both knew they could trust her to take care of him and a person could only keep up so many walls at once, no matter how strong and indestructible they may be. Dark, tired eyes found hers across the way and brimmed with tears, resolve too weak to put on a brave face right now.

Her heart ached at the sight of him. How much he had been through in just the time she'd known him? How much he'd been through before she'd come along? She desired to know everything about him and she vowed in time to find out. For now, though, she knew it wasn't the time for questions. Words weren't what he needed. A different sort of comfort was required for this situation.

She closed the distance between them in a few short bounds and much like he had that awful day at the farmhouse for her, she drew him in for a comforting hug, abandoning the backpack she'd had slung over her right shoulder. Despite the vastness of him, he seemed small and almost delicate in her arms. The tears were silent but she could feel them warm and wet as they pooled at the place on her neck where he buried his face. Tears created a wet spot were the collar of her worn out band tee met soft skin, leaving a damp reminder of his sadness yet also of his unadulterated trust in her.

Her heart broke for him even more as she imagined how long it had been since he'd allowed himself to actually feel any of this sadness. He'd grown so used to pushing down his own wants, needs, and feelings for the greater good; he'd rarely had the time to feel anything anymore, much less process it.

One of her hands pressed to the back of his neck, keeping him close to her and the other came around his side to rest on his lower back, tracing up and down gently, grounding him. It prompted him to speak, to let her know he wasn't completely broken here in her arms. "I'm alright, Clarice." He strained through clenched teeth, willing those words to magically become true as he spoke them allowed. Neither of them believed him.

"You're not alright." She whispered quietly, her hold on him only tightening. It wasn't the first time she'd tried to impress this fact upon him. The stress of leading this group of mutant misfits was stress enough to make a person not okay. But with losing Sonia and Gus and Lorna leaving with Sage? He had to stop pretending that wasn't destroying him, there really was no use. Maybe he had to put on the big brave leader face for everyone else on the time, but not with her.

Before he could protest too much, she spoke again. "It's okay that you're not alright. You have been through so much. It's okay if you can't hold it together. I've fallen apart on you and you put me back together. You even found a few pieces I was missing." She whispered into the side of his head. "Let me help you, I can take it." Her words seemed to give him permission to feel everything that weight on his shoulders and heart more completely and he clung just a little tighter to her as his body wracked with quiet sobs.

Losing Gus the first time had been hard enough but seeing what Campbell had turned him in to? Seeing him perish covered in soot, lying amongst debris? He'd deserved so much better. He'd fought for and protected his country. He'd sacrificed so much, for so many. He was the guy who always had everyone else's back. And when he needed John the most, he'd failed him.

Sonia deserved so much better. Even if his feelings for her had shifted long ago, the pain of losing her still shook him to his core. She was loyal to their cause until the end. She was loyal to him. She'd tried to defend the Strucker kids, sacrifice herself, and resist against Campbell. Sure she'd made her mistakes, especially when it came to Clarice. But her heart was in the right place. She was on the right side of this war. Yet, here she was, another victim of John's inability to protect the one's he cared about the most.

How many more of his friends' lives would end in this senseless war? How many more people he loved would he be forced to lose? The thought made him want to push Clarice away, spare her from the storm of grief he seemed to cast like a spell on those around him. Instead, he drew her closer. The scent of whatever fancy shampoo the Cuckoo's had provided at the safe house still lingered in her hair, the aroma of honey and orange intoxicating him. It was almost enough to distract him momentarily from the fact that this war hadn't just taken his friends in death.

Lorna wasn't dead but she was gone. Unlike Gus and Sonia, she'd chosen to leave him. To leave everything they'd worked so hard towards together, since the beginning. He was angry with her for being selfish, for leaving Marcos, for being tempted by the Frosts and the way they'd so easily colored her judgment. She'd taken Sage with her. She'd encouraged Andy to leave his family. The Lorna he knew and loved, the one who was his sister, she'd never have done that. But then, was she really the Lorna he knew when she and Reed had escaped from prison? All he knew was, she was some of the only family he had left and he would be damned if he didn't fight for her.

These thoughts had overwhelmed him for far too long. As much as he hated showing such weakness to her, he couldn't be more grateful to her at the same time. He let Clarice hold him for longer than he meant to. He appreciated that she'd given him silent support, let him work through what he needed uninterrupted. She'd been strong and steady just like he had been for her. When he pulled back, her eyes sought out his with such concern. "Talk to me, you can't keep this all in, it's too much for one person."

He ran his hand through his hair and sighed, she was right, keeping it all was taking its toll. He couldn't remember the last time he'd really slept. Physically and mentally he was exhausted, drained, and running on empty. "I'm…" He cast his weary eyes down, taking in a ragged breath. "I'm angry." He offered, simply. He was pretty adept at giving advice, but talking about his own issues? You might as well have asked him to recite the Israeli alphabet backwards.

That wasn't good enough for Clarice. "About?" She pressed him on, of course she knew, but there was also something very therapeutic about speaking these things out loud. He deserved the catharsis.

He clinched his jaw; it was hard to talk about these things, even with her. Yet, he felt compelled to go on and maybe he was pretending it was only for her sake. "I'm mad that Lorna left." The words were stiff, but it was progress.

"Why?" She pressed further, and she saw the annoyance wrought into his chiseled face. She gave him a soft look and brought her thumb up to brush over his full bottom lip gently, tenderly. "For me?" She prompted, knowing that if he could convince himself he was doing this for her benefit and not his own, he was more likely to get it accomplished.

His defensed crumbled again. She was only trying to help after all. With a sharp breath he finally provided actual detail. "Because she left and she took Sage with her. She left everything we've built and she basically told everyone that it was dying and to jump ship while they had the chance." Before he could stop the words from coming out he added, "And I'm angry at myself because a part of me knows that she isn't entirely wrong." He swallowed hard, his eyes pleaded with her not to keep pressing but as they searched her green ones they found only relentlessness.

She nodded, taking in everything he'd said. "Well I'll tell you why I'm pissed. She walks in her with her badass outfit and flawless make up; clearly she has gone for the upgrade. Meanwhile, you, Marcos and I shared a sleeve of crackers as our breakfast and lunch on the way to this real gem of a way station so I'd say we sort of got the fuzzy end of the lollipop here. Good guys finishing last, once again. The trope is tired, really. Although I will say, it is nice to be with the good guys." Her jesting tone waned though and her eyes met his and even if her words hadn't been serious, the look in her eyes was. "Maybe we don't have the fancy clothes and the comfortable beds. But we have each other's backs and in the end that's worth a lot more."

She was attempting humor at first and she'd managed to crack a smile from her. However, it was the last part of her statement that had made his heart skip a beat. It also brought a stark realization to the forefront of his mind, "I was afraid they'd try and get you to leave." He confessed, his sad eyes meeting hers once again. "I think that may have done me in."

A weak smile played on her lips, an offering to put his mind at ease. "I made sure to broadcast a big 'fuck you' for whichever Frost sister was trying to whisper sweet nothings into our ears. Besides, they already tried to sway me before, convince me I was like them, that we weren't so different. But even before, even when I was desperate and pissed the hell off to the point where I briefly fell into it with the Brotherhood, I was never a monster." She paused, considering carefully how to continue without sounding like she was hopelessly in love and obsessed with him; "Being a part of this makes us all better And that's largely in part because of you, Proudstar. So, we are going to do this the right way even if it's the hard, pain in the ass, can't ever catch a damn break way; even when it sucks major ass. Because it's going to fucking suck." She'd had to bite her tongue too much tonight around the children; the curse words were making up for lost time it seemed.

She was the only one who could make him smile at a time like this, of that he was sure. Before he could respond she added more seriously, a promised assurance, "I'm not going anywhere." As she spoke the words, her hands gripped the backs of his biceps, her eyes locking on to his. She needed him to know that in this time of uncertainty, of strife amongst their group, of grave tragedy and loss, he had her, if he wanted. "Where you go, I'll go." She meant that, truly. John could lead her into a burning building and she'd follow without a second thought because if she knew there was one thing she could trust and count on in this crazy, fucked up world, it was him.

Emotion flooded his eyes once again and he pulled her against him, "Clarice," He muttered gently before his lips captured hers. His tongue parting her lips, exploring her own, his fingers finding their home in her luscious locks. The kiss may have started gentle but it quickly grew hungry with need. First his own, then hers as well. A soft moan escaped her lips as they broke for air, doing him in. He melted against her, lips moving to explore her neck, hands searching under layers of sweatshirt and t-shirt for access to warm skin. "I'll always do my best to protect you." He whispered into the sensitive skin at the crook of her neck.

Goosebumps formed on her skin and as good as his lips felt there, she needed to look at him before she spoke. Her hand moved to tug at his hair, then when he glanced up, her fingers traced down to his chin, angling it down so he could look at her. "And I will do what I can to protect you." She whispered, fingers moving briefly to tap symbolically against his heart before her lips were capturing his once again, although too briefly for either of their liking. Pulling away she placed a gentle hand on his chest, "And I'll start by making you eat something, then maybe I can convince you to lay down and at least pretend to get some rest." She raised her eyebrows knowingly at him.

"Getting me food and trying to get me to bed? Clarice, is this our first date?" He grinned at her playfully, bumping her shoulder with his own.

His words made the wheels in her mind start turning. She finally paid mind to the backpack she'd previously abandoned on the ground near their feet. She dipped her hand inside to produce two slightly squished peanut butter sandwiches wrapped haphazardly in paper towels. "Your deep dish pizza, sir." She said with mock seriousness, handing him one of the sandwiches, followed by a bottle of water.

He knitted his brow in confusion but smiled nonetheless, and decided to play along "Smells delicious." He took an exaggerated bite, "And it's still warm!" They shared another genuine smile and once again he found his longed for escape from reality thanks to her.

They ate in relative silence, though keeping in constant physical contact the entire time whether it was knees touching, or a hand on the other's thigh, a gentle brush of elbows. Even after they finished eating they remained there, eyes closed in quiet contemplation for a while. Before too long, she tugged gently at his hand and he let her lead him inside, past the sleeping bodies littering cots at every corner of the way station.

There were far more refugees then beds and they'd been among the first to give theirs away. Clarice had taken the extra blankets and made them each small pallets on the floor, near to one another but not too close to be presumptuous.

He shed his jacket first, draping it on the back of a broken three-legged chair that shifted under the weight of its new adornment. Clarice had set their bags against the wall and he crossed to his, retrieving a pair of sweat pants to swap for his jeans. At some point she'd disappeared to the bathroom to change into her own sleepwear, returning moments later to find him lying there, facing the wall. She tried to hide her disappointment; if he'd managed to fall asleep it was for the best really. He was in desperate need of sleep that persisted for longer than 45 minutes at a time.

She padded her way towards the remaining makeshift bed, the pale moonlight seeping in through the windows guiding the way, laying down and pulling the blanket over herself upon reaching it. She felt her bottom blankets being tugged closer to his and then his arm came around her waist, "Is this alright?" He asked, his voice already heavy with sleep.

"More than alright," She whispered back, snuggling back against what she'd find to be his bare chest. It was, she was sure, the safest place she'd ever been. After a beat of silence she listened to see if his breathe had evened out enough to indicate he was asleep. Finding it hadn't she chanced calling out to him. "John?" Her voice was gentle and sleepy. She felt him shit enough to confirm he was awake and before waiting to hear from him. "Thank you, for giving me something to believe in."

And though she was quite sure he would assume she meant the Underground, she hoped at least some small part of him would know that she was actually talking about him.


End file.
